


page by dog-eared page

by benwvatt



Series: each and every universe [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Library, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-11-18 08:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benwvatt/pseuds/benwvatt
Summary: Amy Santiago works at Foster High School in Brooklyn, both teaching art history and the working in the library. She stumbles into her apartment one morning and realizes she needs something new to fall in love with.





	1. rencontrer (to meet)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! I started writing this as a one-shot and I'm up to 15k words. tons of chapters are coming! I already have 6 written :)))

When Amy Santiago was in high school, in a contest to see who could make the best senior project, she ran a book drive for a year and a half. She remembers quietly marching into the public library, scouring through stacks of used books for the _perfect_ ones to buy. The staff came to know her by name, and learned to always have spare change on hand when Santiago was in the building.

When people ask how she could afford to run the book drive, ultimately storing ten or fifteen boxes of books in her cramped bedroom, Amy looks at the ground. She doesn’t buy books from _Barnes & Noble._ She keeps her eyes open, visiting used bookstores and city libraries in search of good deals and willing people. Amy isn’t especially proud, but she carries a sack of quarters and dimes in her backpack to buy books.

Once she runs out of coins, once she’s reduced to paying with pennies, Amy ups the ante on donations. Kylie helps her organize posters, promising service hours in exchange for books. People flood — no, they trickle — into the school library, offering lightly used copies of books the English teachers mandated.

Amy should be disappointed students never bothered to flick _The Scarlet Letter_ or _Great Expectations_ open, but she grows numb to the phenomenon. After all, a book is a book. She can’t complain.

She’s always been frugal. Once, she wore the same glasses for three years because renewing her prescription was too expensive. Growing up in a tight-knit family of ten as the youngest and only daughter, there hasn’t always been room for extra expenses. Amy recalls wearing hand-me-down school uniforms and reusing her brothers’ binders from school, in a desperate attempt to make ends meet a little more. With her mother staying at home and her father earning a policeman’s salary, life isn’t easy.

After high school, when all the books are donated, adversity does ease its grip on Amy Santiago.

For one thing, she can finally afford a nice pair of glasses. She studies art history in college, filling her small-but-orderly dorm (later, apartment) with used textbooks. Amy works at Foster High School in Brooklyn, spending half her day teaching art history and the other half working in the library. Her salary isn’t bad, seeing as she _technically_ has two jobs, and she finally has time to breathe.

Amy stumbles into her apartment one morning, after staying up talking with the home economics teacher, and realizes she needs something new to fall in love with.

Charles Boyle is a good person. He’s excitable and friendly, more positive than he really should be, and Amy wishes she could be that energetic. She’d probably need two or three shots of espresso, or maybe a drink of straight-up vodka, to get on his level. New to the district and full of ideas, Boyle is the kind of person Amy has never met before. He brings all the teachers snacks when it comes time for staff meetings, and his creations are of the arcane sort: sourdough bread with a touch of tradition, cupcakes covered in lacy frosting flowers.

One quiet Saturday, Amy confronts Charles about this emptiness, stopping by his apartment to confess. She tells him of the dreams she has to do more than work two jobs, and he recommends she visit someplace new.

Come to think of it, Charles says in that hopelessly ecstatic voice, his best friend just started working at a store across town.

“Want to come with?” Charles asks, already grabbing his coat from a chair. “I’ve been thinking of visiting.”

Amy’s unsure of what kind of place Charles’ friend works, but he promises she’ll like it, so she races to the car and feels seventeen again. Not in the angsty, stressed way, but because Amy has long since wanted to experience breathlessness and awe again.

They spend half an hour driving there, battling bad traffic and the rising need to honk at the cars ahead, but Charles finally pulls up.

“It’s better than I thought it’d be!” Amy lets out a deep breath of relief. She knows, before ever stepping in, that this place is home.

* * *

Raymond Holt and Kevin Cozner have been married for ages, first in an emotional sense and legally a handful of years later. When Kevin earned a promotion and a bonus from the private college where he teaches, he and his husband made an investment for the long run.

A short commute away from their apartment, a small but beloved bookstore now stands where a video store once did. Raymond ‘Ray’ Holt is the proud owner of this establishment, looking out across the street as a Mustang pulls up.

McGintley, the most relaxed entrepreneur Holt’s ever met, recommended he hire the old workers for the bookstore. Kevin and Ray decided to do so, seeing as Jake and Gina weren’t making much more than minimum wage at the video store.

Raymond suggested they name the store _‘Shelf Life’,_ earning a laugh from his husband. McGintley feigned amusement before telling Siri to look up the meaning of the phrase.

Jake Peralta and Gina Linetti carpool to work, apparently a tradition they have from grade school. When they first began working at _Shelf Life,_ they had trouble adjusting. In particular, Jake had some fixation on the Die Hard franchise. With time, though, both Linetti and Peralta adjusted to working at the bookstore.

The store isn’t especially large to begin with, but Holt instructs both Jake and Gina to memorize its layout. He and Kevin have saved for who-knows-how-long to afford this place, and they’re not giving it up anytime soon. Though Jake and Gina groan when asked to draw maps of the store as a test, they later thank Holt when a reporter gives _Shelf Life_ a five-star review, with a special paragraph praising the workers.

Although Jake and Gina had general knowledge of films when they worked at the video store, they’re supposed to go the extra mile now that Holt’s their boss. For one thing, knowing about books helps sell and recommend them to customers. For another, _Shelf Life_ has a used books section with lower prices. Jake and Gina often go to library sales, searching for deals, so the bookstore can resell books.

The excited look on a child’s face, as they hug faded books to their chests, makes everything worth it.

While Gina knows more about realistic and romance novels, Jake is an expert on adventure and fantasy books. They try to familiarize themselves with other genres, knowing how hard Holt and Kevin have worked to run the bookstore. Within a few weeks, Jake and Gina can’t hear ‘Dickens’ or ‘Steinbeck’ without thinking about _Shelf Life._

Every effort adds up. Jake and Gina quiz each other about the New York Times Best Sellers and plan weekend trips to book sales. They walk into work with a box of books and a receipt. Holt reimburses them, sometimes making fun of their taste, but always looks out across the store with pride. His to-do list is always completed, no matter how minimal the improvement.

 _Someone_ needs to put up the string of pride flags above the LGBT+ aisle, or choose the music to play in the store. (Every day, Jake says John Philip Sousa was not the Skrillex of his day, but Holt never listens.)

Before long, Holt realizes he can’t do everything. The store is growing, with a reliable clientele, and it needs more workers. Jake and Gina get promotions after learning so much about literature. They put up a ‘we’re hiring’ sign in the front window, and people wanting to interview soon line up. Holt hires Terry Jeffords as manager, and Norm Scully and Michael Hitchcock as cashiers.

Orientation day is interesting, to say the least. Terry is the most enthusiastic manager Holt can imagine. He shows everyone pictures of his twin daughters, and Holt makes a mental note to start stocking more children’s books. It’s clear Terry Jeffords is a good leader, even if he won’t stop referring to himself in third person.

Hitchcock and Scully are nothing like Terry. They only agreed to take the jobs if they could sit all day, which Holt agreed to, because he finds it ridiculous cashiers are expected to stand for eight hours. Hitchcock and Scully easily learn the ropes, scanning without a second thought. Holt’s a little worried they’re not charismatic enough, though. He hopes they improve with time.

With three new employees and a bustling store, Holt makes plans to open a second bookstore with Kevin. Terry leaves about ten notes in the suggestion box, recommending books to order, and Holt knows he hired a good manager.

Now, his cashiers might need a bit of training. That’s another story for another day.

* * *

Amy excitedly walks up the steps to _Shelf Life,_ with Charles behind her. He’s winded by the time he reaches the storefront. Upon opening the door and hearing the bell ring, Amy is greeted by Jake, Charles’ best friend. While Amy takes in the scent of books and furniture polish, Charles and Jake chatter away. Amy introduces herself as Charles’ work friend, then shakes Jake’s hand.

“Wow, firm handshake,” he remarks.

“I took a seminar,” Amy brags.

Jake seems to take Amy’s peculiarity in stride, joking she should give him pointers. She can see why Charles is such good friends with him.

“So, how’s life working at the high school?” Jake asks. “I _do not_ envy you. Give me a bookstore any day over home ec class.”

“You work retail, Jake,” Charles retorts. “After the first couple of years of home ec, you learn what mistakes kids’ll make before they even make them. Anyway, I only teach four classes. I’m not like _Amy.”_

“What does that mean?” Amy demands, pretending to be insulted. “I like having two jobs!”

Amy explains, “See, I majored in art history, but there aren’t enough kids who sign up. So I teach in the mornings and I’m the librarian during the afternoon. The other librarian covers for me in the morning.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a librarian?” Jake asks, motioning toward the shelves. “Okay, I hear about your _handshake lessons,_ but not this?”

“Jake, she’s just really proud of the handshake seminar,” Charles jokes. “She keeps a binder at home, full of notes from the lectures and practice sessions.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding about the binder,” Jake groans.

Amy shakes her head, and Jake asks to see pictures of the binder. “My handshake is pretty weak, if you haven’t noticed, and I could use the help.”

They switch phone numbers so Amy can show him the binder once she gets home.

* * *

“Hey, it’s been great talking with you, but I have to run,” Jake says. “The local library is having a book sale, and it’s about to start.”

“Oh, can I come?” Amy asks. “I’ve been thinking about doing a book drive at the library, and the opportunity just presented itself.”

“Yeah, feel free to come!” Jake answers, with a wide smile. “Charles, you want to join us?”

“Nah,” Charles replies. “I have to prep a lesson for Monday. We’re making meringues, and my class has the hardest time with them.”

“Alright, Charles,” Amy responds. “See you Monday morning! Good luck with the meringues.”

Jake stops by his manager’s office, checking out of _Shelf Life,_ and calls his friend Gina to take over for him. “She goes on the shift after me,” he explains. “We used to do more book sales together, but Saturday is when her girlfriend’s free so I go alone now.”

“If you want, I could go with you,” Amy offers. “You know, more than just this once.”

Jake takes her up on the offer. “Thank you so much. Gina’s training to become a dance instructor, so she doesn’t work very many hours anymore. The training, along with her relationship with Rosa, really limits her working hours.”

Amy thanks the heavens Gina has a girlfriend. “Wait 一 Rosa _Diaz?”_

“Yeah,” Jake says. “How do you know her?”

As they walk to to the parking lot and reach Jake’s car, Amy notices Jake opens the passenger door for her. It’s only polite, she knows, but still very nice.

“We were college roommates.” After getting into Jake’s car, Amy conjures an image of Rosa in her mind, and wonders if Gina is anything like her.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I knew her back then. I’ve seen photographs of her teen years and everything. Did you know she had pink hair for a while?”

Jake laughs, while Amy texts Charles a ‘thank you’ for introducing her to _Shelf Life._ It’s a short ten-minute drive, and Amy recognizes the library when she and Jake exit the car. “Oh, the sale is _here?”_

“Yes, that is why we drove here,” Jake remarks. He and Amy grab red plastic baskets once they enter. They ‘divide and conquer’, so to speak, to best serve their interests. There are rows and rows of books, spine side up, laid out on the tables.

“Jake! Get over here!” Amy hisses, after a good ten minutes of looking around. “Look! Someone donated all the _Harry Potters.”_

“Nice! I’ve never read Rowling, but I know a good deal when I see one.”

Amy takes the first four books from the series, while Jake puts the last three in his basket. She tries to ignore the fact that Jake hasn’t read _Harry Potter._ He works at a bookstore, for heaven’s sake.

They spend twenty-five minutes shopping at the book sale, before mutually deciding to go to the check-out. Jake looks over at Amy’s basket, impressed. _Moby Dick_ and _Heart of Darkness_ sit at the top. Meanwhile, he has _The Raven Boys_ and _Paper Towns_ above a bunch of other contemporary novels.

“Amy Santiago?” asks the woman counting the books.

“Mrs. Frederick! It’s so good to see you again!” Amy responds. “Um, this is Jake. He works at the bookstore on 8th Street, _Shelf Life,_ so I came with him today. He's a friend of a friend.”

After an awkward pause, Amy explains she ran a book drive in senior year and now works at Foster High School. Jake nods appreciatively (he later explains he’s horrible at small talk, which Amy kind of already knew) and doesn't question Amy’s ‘friend of a friend’ explanation.

Mrs. Frederick, thankfully, doesn’t chat for long. She charges Amy and Jake for their baskets, gives them brown paper bags, and hugs Amy on her way out.

Once they find Jake’s car in the parking lot and put their bags in the trunk, Jake asks where she wants to go next.

“Not to be weird or anything, but do you want to come over? We could trade books. My brothers and I used to do it all the time as kids,” says Amy.

“That sounds … nice,” Jake replies. “I’ve never traded books before.”

“Oh, you’ll love this!” Amy answers, grinning unashamedly. “Plus, I can show you my handshake binder. I know you’re just _dying_ to see it.”

“Yeah,” Jake rolls his eyes. “You know the book sale was all a ruse so I could go over to your place and read your hand-shaking binder.”

Amy tells him the directions as they make their way to her apartment. “Alright, when we get there, it might be a bit messy,” she apologizes.

They get out of the car and into the elevator, each carrying a bag of books. Jake feigns a horrified gasp when he enters. “Amy Santiago! You have a wilting houseplant on the windowsill and and a book open on the sofa! I cannot stay here. That’s final.”

“Shush, some of us have high standards when it comes to cleaning,” Amy says. “Now, let’s see what we each bought.”

They make their way to Amy’s carpeted living room and sit down. Amy spreads out all the books she got, and Jake does the same.

Amy wagers, “I’ll trade you _The Outsiders_ for _The Book Thief.”_

“You have a deal.”


	2. sourire (to smile)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Amy went to change. We went to the book sale, and then came back to Amy’s apartment to trade,” Jake explains. “Finally, I found someone who agrees with me about deckle edges!”_
> 
> _“Please don’t ever stop talking to her,” Charles says, half-joking. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that rant?”_

Jake and Amy spend half an hour making trades while discussing their work-related book struggles. Amy’s sure, if she were talking with anyone but Jake, they would make fun of her. 

_“I know! Why doesn’t Goodreads have half-star ratings? What if something’s not quite three stars but it definitely didn’t make four?”_

_“You know what I hate? Mike Lupica sports novels. Nobody reads them, but they’re everywhere.”_

_“Definitely. Books with those serrated deckle edges are the worst. They take so long to flip through!”_

_“What’s the deal with Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants? It’s unhygienic, if you ask me.”_

Before Amy knows it, her alarms goes off for her three-o’clock Skype call with Charles. Since she’s so terrible at cooking, he gives her lessons every Saturday. It’s a nice way to stay in contact and improve at the same time.

“Can I learn, too?” Jake asks. “I’m not so great at cooking.”

Amy scoffs, not out of pride, but because she doesn’t think anyone could be worse than she is. “Sounds good! I mean, I hijacked your book sale, so you might as well join in on my informal cooking class.”

“You didn’t hijack anything, Amy. Thanks to you, I got to trade books and rant about deckle edges!” Jake says. “That sounded sarcastic, didn’t it? I’m serious. I _hate_ deckle edges.”

* * *

Amy walks Jake to her kitchen, her laptop set up on the counter. She calls Charles on Skype, who picks up after a minute. He’s wearing a flowery apron and a green oven mitt, holding a tray of meringues.

“I’m going to change for the cooking class,” she says, before disappearing to her room.

“Hey, Amy! Amy?” Charles calls. “What’s Jake doing in your kitchen? And where are you?”

“Amy went to change. We went to the book sale, and then came back to Amy’s apartment to trade,” Jake explains. “Finally, I found someone who agrees with me about deckle edges!”

“Please don’t ever stop talking to her,” Charles says, half-joking. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that rant?”

“Shut it,” Jake shoots back. “You know how terrible deckle edges are. They’re inefficient _and_ expensive! The worst combination!”

“What’s this I hear about deckle edges?” Amy returns, wearing a grey sweatshirt and jean shorts. “Also known as Earth’s most unhelpful innovation?”

“See, someone agrees with me,” Jake taunts. He takes off his plaid button-up, walking around Amy’s kitchen in a white t-shirt and jeans.

Charles begs Jake and Amy to shut up about book edges before sending them a recipe for coconut macaroons. “I anticipated you’d be stressed lately, Amy, so I picked a really easy food.”

“What’s wrong?” Jake questions.

“National exams,” Charles and Amy respond, almost robotically. “Art history is an advanced placement class, and the test is in two weeks.”

“Yet another reason I don’t teach,” Jake smirks.

“It’s really fine,” Amy says, dismissively. “I’m not even allowed to be in the testing room. I think my students are fine.”

“I bet you’ll get good scores this year, Ames,” Charles encourages. “Come on, let’s bake! You know it calms you down.”

Amy reads the recipe, cheering when she sees there are three ingredients, and navigates around the kitchen to find them. Jake preheats the oven, bragging about how easy it is, until he finds he forgets a metal pan inside. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll get an oven mitt and take it out.”

Emptying coconut flakes, condensed milk, and vanilla extract into a bowl, Amy and Jake swirl the mixture around with spoons.

“Bless you, Charles, for picking an easy recipe this time,” Amy exhales. “Last time, you wanted me to bake an angel cake,”

“Amy, you just bought cake mix,” Charles retorts. “They gave you a sack of powder! All you did was add water and eggs, and put the mix in the oven.”

“Hey, don’t attack cake mix!” Jake interrupts. He’s been busy tasting the macaroon mixture, so there are coconut flakes stuck to his chin, but he does have a point. “It’s cheap, easy to use, and it tastes great.”

“Yeah, Charles,” Amy says. “Well, except for the taste. I’m afraid of getting salmonella, so I don’t taste the batter.”

Jake tells Amy she’s unbelievable, while Charles tries to prove the statistical chance of contracting salmonella is vanishingly small (Amy argues she would say _infinitesimally,_ while Jake says the odds are _teenily-weenily small.)_

“Anyway, you can taste this batter,” Charles states, “because there aren’t any raw eggs in here.”

Amy takes some of the mix and makes a face when she first tastes it. “Wow, there’s a ton of sugar in here.”

“That’s the point!” Jake says, and Charles admits he’s correct. “Some people actually dip the macaroons in chocolate once they’re done.”

Though she looks about ready to faint, and promises to not eat these dreadful sweets, Amy gets out the cupcake wrappers and drops macaroon batter into them. She and Jake work alongside each other, trying and failing to critique the other’s performance.

“Only one of these has the perfect amount,” Charles murmurs, “and I won’t tell you which one.”

They all look pretty similar to Amy, but she desperately hopes the _perfect_ macaroon is one she made. Jake probably has the same wish, Amy thinks, just by the look on his face. The oven beeps a few minutes after Jake and Amy finish putting batter into the cupcake tins, and Charles actually claps with giddiness.

Amy can’t imagine being as positive as Charles Boyle. She can try, though, so she puts on oven mitts and puts the tray in. “Ten to twelve minutes,” Charles recommends, so Amy chooses eleven.

While they wait for the macaroons to bake, Charles starts telling Jake and Amy about his afternoon. He made the meringues, just as planned, and videotaped himself for his ‘flipped classroom’ teaching idea. Even if few people care about home ec, Charles is deeply devoted to his foodie blog and its posts. (The high school staff get his weekly email blasts. Amy’s learned quite a few things about baking, suffice to say.)

The conversation turns around. “What’ve you two been up to?” Charles asks, a false air of innocence hidden in his words. Amy notices his subtle wink; she’d call him out on it, if Jake weren’t over at her apartment. They only just met, after all.

“Shut it, Charles,” Jake says, before Amy can even speak. Thank goodness he picked up on Charles’ insinuations. She wasn’t the only one. “We went to the library, and then we arrived here. All we did was trade books and talk shop.”

“Talk shop?” Amy asks, crossing her arms and turning to look at Jake. The sleeves of her sweatshirt are greying and her hair is sticking out of its messy ponytail, but she can poke fun at Peralta in any state. _“What are we, carpenters?”_

Two split seconds after talking, Amy realizes she shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t insulting or anything, but she can’t believe she’s this old and still bad at conversation. Her fingers fly up, nails piercing into the nape of her neck in a stressful frenzy. 

“Sorry, you wouldn’t believe how many weird terms I’ve picked up from reading so much,” Jake responds, laughing and looking at the ground all at once. His ears turn pink, Amy notes, and his smile has a nice crookedness to it.

The beep of the oven interrupts whatever poor discussion was taking place, and Amy rushes to turn it off. She takes a deep breath, opens the oven door, and removes a neat tray of macaroons. They’re white-gold, with stylishly browned coconut flakes at the top. Charles cheers, Jake moves to pick one up, and Amy has to keep herself from slapping his hand away.

_They just met; she shouldn’t care this much about him._

“My mistake. I … didn’t want you to get burnt,” Amy apologizes, the realization of how strange she sounds sinking in. Jake thanks her before inching toward the pan of macaroons yet again, deciding they’re now cool enough to taste.

“Well, what do you think of the macaroons? They’re my own recipe,” Charles boasts.

Jake can’t say anything, still chewing while his mouth is covered in coconut flakes, but he’s in heaven. The macaroon is kind of falling apart in its silver cupcake tin, but everything is delicious and he’s satisfied. Amy reaches for a sweet, carefully unwrapping it and taking a bite. The sugary confection takes its time to sink in, but she’s soon thanking Charles for the recipe.

“They’re everything I ever wanted,” Jake says. “Easy to make, tasty, healthy, and fancy.”

 _“Healthy?!”_ Amy inquires. “Didn’t you just eat one?”

“Hey, it has coconut as its main ingredient. Coconuts are fruits,” Jake protests.

Ordinarily, Amy would point out the weaknesses in Jake’s logic 一 his argument is fallacious as hell 一 but the macaroons turned out so well and Charles is about to hang up. Amy realizes she’s had _such_ a nice day, she doesn’t want to ruin it with her own argumentative self.

“Well, it’s been fun baking with you!” Amy almost shouts, faking a smile. She knows Charles is trying to go, but he hates hanging up. Besides, Jake has work tomorrow; he should probably leave, too.

“Alright, I should go,” Charles says. He yawns before explaining he has to edit the baking video for his blog. “Bye, you two!”

Amy smiles a little, hearing the enthusiasm present in Charles’ voice. He’s a good friend, and she can see why he and Jake are so close.

“I should probably get going, too,” Jake admits, putting on his leather jacket. Amy doesn’t really want him to leave, but she knows he should.

“You have work tomorrow, right?” Amy asks, sounding awfully simple.

_Of course he has work, it’s Monday tomorrow._

“Yeah, why?”

Amy doesn’t have to look up to know Jake’s leaving, hearing the jingle of car keys in the air.

“Just wondering what your hours were. I was thinking of stopping by _Shelf Life_ more often.”

“That’d be great,” Jake says, grinning. Amy jumps up to open the door for him. Her head is a blur; she doesn’t know whether or not to hug Jake.

She doesn’t.

“Thanks for having me over. Night, Ames. It was great meeting you.”

She’s hated pet names her whole life, but suddenly Jake is calling her a nickname and her cheeks are reddening in the dim light of the threshold. They’re standing in between the carpet and the hallway, face to face and foolish as can be.

Maybe, someday, he’ll stay over. He’ll listen to all her stories, all the secrets she couldn’t bear to carry anymore. Tonight, maybe he’ll blush as he remembers her, when he’s at home and she’s nowhere around. Just maybe. Amy can only hope.

“It was good to meet you, too,” Amy replies, her shyness disappearing as she continues. “Listen, how do you feel about being ‘deckle edge’ in my phone contacts?”

Jake laughs for a good ten seconds (time feels longer and better around him, okay?). “Sure, Amy, as long as you can be ‘angel cake.’”

Biting her lip, Amy decides to not tell Jake there are still two boxes of cake mix 一 chocolate and red velvet 一 in her pantry. Instead, she excuses herself and returns with a ziploc baggie of coconut macaroons.

“I put half of them in. You were baking, too, you know,” Amy says. With a black sharpie, she writes his full name on the bag in her nicest handwriting.

“Is this a _font?”_ Jake jokes, his eyebrows raised. He whistles, looking at Amy’s careful writing, and tells her he’ll treasure the bag for ages.

“Goodnight, Jake. I’ll text you, alright?” Amy hugs him, only briefly, and hands him the bag of macaroons.

With a _click_ of her front door, he’s gone.

Tonight was good, she thinks, as her heartbeat slows and she looks over to the living room. Amy knows she was awkward at times, making uncomfortable comments and strange gestures, but Jake seemed genuinely glad to meet her.

Books are strewn about the coffee table, hardcovers shining under the ceiling fan’s light. Making her way around the room, Amy picks up books until she has to hold the stack under her chin. She puts the books in her room, promising to take them to work tomorrow, and doesn’t touch them for the rest of the night.

Instead, Amy takes out her phone and changes Jake’s contact name to _‘deckle edge.’_ He hasn’t texted yet, so she keeps herself from texting first. She has more self control than that, right?

Amy puts her hair down, eats two macaroons, and gets ready for bed. She falls asleep hoping life will be nice enough to let her be happy someday. When the clock strikes 11:11, Amy is already fast asleep, dreaming about living someplace with a secret wall and a private library.

* * *

In three days’ time, Amy’s done a lot more than she thought she would.

She and Jake have started texting (he messaged her just after he got home from her apartment!) and he’s probably the biggest dork she’s ever met.

__

_[yesterday, tuesday: opened texts]_

__**deckle edge:** hey ames  
**deckle edge:** amyyyyyy  
**deckle edge:** did anyone ever tell you aNNE MCCAFFREY IS OVERRATED  
**deckle edge:** i hate her sm 

__**angel cake:** what even jake,,,she’s SO old  
**angel cake:** why is this relevant??  
**angel cake:** are you drunk 

__**deckle edge:** nopee  
**deckle edge:** just mad bc mccaffrey is taking up shelf space  
**deckle edge:** how do u deal with this at the library ? 

**angel cake:** uh, we just weed the books 

**deckle edge:** i want to make a 420 joke but i shouldnt 

__**angel cake:** shush  
**angel cake:** we just delete old books from the system and donate them  
**angel cake:** are bookstores allowed to do that or no 

__**deckle edge:** ok, i checked, we can’t throw books out  
**deckle edge:** great :/  
**deckle edge:** all that junk about profit and revenue  
**deckle edge:** hey, wanna buy all of the mccaffrey books so shelf life gets more space?  
**deckle edge:** please? 

__

Amy’s also begun going to the public library more often. To relive some old memories, she wants to begin a book drive. There are posters all around the school, advertising the cause, and Amy happily watches as students donate. They’ll do _anything_ for service hours, she’s noticed, and uses this knowledge to her advantage.

Sophia, the other librarian, definitely appreciates Amy’s efforts. Although she doesn’t go to book sales, she helps put up posters and donates books from home. Most of them are dusty, old tomes, but a book is a book. Nobody can shush students or tell them to push in their chairs like Sophia can. Amy really admires Sophia, and they’ve become close since they began working at the same time, in the same place.

On Friday afternoon, five days and eight coconut macaroons after the book sale, Amy is innocently working at the library when Charles arrives in her office. His face is alight with a grin, and his hands are clasped behind his back

“Hey, Santiago,” he says, attempting some semblance of coolness. His voice is a bit pitchy, though, and Amy can’t help but notice.

“Hi, Charles!” Amy looks up from the hardback open at her desk, the address and name of the library blacked out with sharpie. “Anything wrong?”

Amy crosses her fingers under the desk.

“Uh, no. I have a class to teach 一 macaroons won’t bake themselves! 一 but someone came to see you.” Charles practically sprints away from the library, and Amy _would_ yell at him for running, but Jake steps out from the hall.

He’s wearing a purple _Shelf Life_ t-shirt, plastered in a maze of popular book titles, and Amy smiles at the sight. Jake’s eyes are soft and she spots ‘Harry Potter’ on his left shoulder, so she feels doubly happy and her heart accelerates at once.

“Hey, Amy,” he says, his cheeks turning pink as he speaks. “Since you visited me at the store, I only thought it’d be fair that I see you at school.”

“It’s good to see you,” Amy replies, pushing her glasses up her nose and promptly standing up.

“Uh, Sophia, can you cover for me?” she yells, turning away from Jake. Sophia walks out of her office and into Amy’s, asking what’s wrong until her smooth voice turns into a stutter.

“Ah, you’re, uh, you’re busy. Sounds good. I’ll, just, um, take over for you and make sure you’re off the clock for 一 for however long you want.”

With anyone else, Amy would be blushing and apologizing like mad, but Jake just laughs and thanks Sophia. He boyishly leans one hand on her desk, and she loves it, for some reason. “What, does she think we’re together? Did you tell her about meeting me?”

Amy says no because it’s easier, but she told Sophia this morning all about Jake’s various literary hates: Mike Lupica, Anne McCaffrey, anyone who puts a full-size photo of themselves on the back of their book. Sophia winked and said Jake was a keeper, if he hates deckle edges as much as Amy does.

“Can I get a tour?” Jake asks, sincerity in his eyes. He gazes out the window, toward the bookshelves, with a childish hope Amy can only hope he keeps.

“I didn’t get a tour at _Shelf Life,”_ Amy shoots back. She’s smiling, though, because she really can’t stop herself.

“Come by a second time, and you’ll get a tour from yours truly.”

Amy really hopes Jake is serious, because she’s far too gullible to tell. She walks out from behind the desk in her office and motions for him to follow.

“Ready for your tour? Don’t expect too much; we’re a small school district.”

“No problem,” Jake responds, shrugging. _“Shelf Life_ is a small store.”

They make their way past the offices.

“Okay, these are the fiction shelves. Sophia hates their height, but I think they’re just perfect. You know, calm and fortress-like. It’s like you walk right into a forest.”

“Amy, that’s pretty insensitive,” Jake jokes, feigning offense. “A forest _died_ for these books.”

“Shush it, you.” Amy waves her hand in the air, a strange sophistication settling over her, and explains, “The books are organized by genre, and they’re alphebetized within the genres.”

“Noice,” Jake says, “just the way we do it at the store.”

“Great minds thinks alike.” Amy taps at her temple with her index finger, taking Jake past the shelves.

To the left are desks and chairs, out of place but loved nonetheless. Amy boasts about how the desks have power outlets on the sides, and Jake tells her he wishes _Shelf Life_ had furniture like this.

Amy leads Jake all over the library, from the tables to the computers and the nonfiction section and fancy conference room. He looks impressed, truly the best compliment to a Santiago, and they both look up at the clock when a _ring_ pierces the air.

“School’s out,” Amy says, plainly.

“You know, those were my favorite words as a kid, but I’m sad to have this end.”

Amy nods quietly. “This doesn’t have to end,” she answers. “Would you like to get a coffee?”

Jake’s grinning, and Amy’s already planning in her head.

“Okay, we can separately drive to the Starbucks on Eleventh Street. I’ll see you in, like, fifteen minutes, unless you want to go home first to change, or something,” he explains.

“No, I’ll leave straight from school,” Amy replies. “The sooner I see you, the better.”

She can see Sophia winking at her from the offices. When Jake isn’t looking, Amy glares at Sophia and moves to get her purse. Sophia is a world-class lip-reader, and this particular talent practically doubles her ability as an eavesdropper.

“Bye, Ames.” Jake shoves one hand in his pocket, and uses the other to open the library door for Amy.

“See you soon, Deckle Edge.” Amy steps past the threshold, walking down the stairs to the parking lot.

“Where are you going? There’s an elevator!” Jake protests. Amy says it’s for people with disabilities, or deliverymen, so Jake steps out and walks down the staircase with Amy. He walks her to her car and everything. Before putting her key in the ignition, Amy has to take a moment to smile at everything that just happened.


	3. dire (to say)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay. Amy Santiago. You are … really, truly incredible. You work two teaching jobs and you’re proud of yourself. You deserve to be. You’re really smart, because you try so hard. Your hair is super shiny, too. And you always manage to cheer me up, even when you’re texting me something dumb. So, yeah, you’re important to me. You and your nice smile and book memes.”
> 
> If it weren’t for the darkness, Jake would see her ears turning red.

 

_[today, friday: opened texts]_

**deckle edge:** ames, i bet $5 i get there first

 **angel cake:** ill take that action ;)

* * *

Amy wins the bet. Jake argues she parked in the morning, so she had a better space, while he arrived in the afternoon and didn’t park as well.

“What was I supposed to do, come to school with you at 8 AM?” Jake falsely demands.

“Some friend you are, not coming with me to school,” Amy retorts. “Just pay for my coffee, okay? That’ll take care of the five bucks.”

Jake orders a vanilla bean frappuccino, while Amy decides on cotton candy, and they happily sit in the booth talking.

“If you’re going to take photos for the _aesthetic,_ do it now, when the cup’s full,” Jake advises.

Amy rolls her eyes, but admits she has a Polaroid camera and a string of photos in her room. Jake makes fun of her until he realizes he can’t think of a nickname for her. They decide their last names will be perfectly suitable until they think of something better.

“How was work, Peralta?” Amy’s trying out the whole use-the-surname-as-a-nickname thing, and she feels like a police captain.

“Pretty good, Santiago,” Jake nods, trying to look serious, but he can’t help but laugh. “Business was pretty slow, but then a middle school came by and the kids were adorable. _Shelf Life_ is doing a book fair, for some reason. It’s kind of weird, but everyone seems to like it.”

“Wait 一 from which school?”

“Uh, Casper Creek Middle School, I think.”

“No way! That’s my district, ‘cause I teach at Foster High.” Amy talks in between sips of her cotton candy frap.

“How do you like teaching?” Jake asks. “Is it tough holding two teaching jobs?”

“Well, I think it was harder getting enough degrees for two teaching jobs,” Amy replies. “It’s ridiculous how talented you have to be a teacher, and yet the income’s a joke. Beside the pay, though, I love being able to teach kids and see that _eureka_ moment in their eyes.”

“See, some people only have one job, Santiago, and they hate it! You have two, and you love _both_ of them. I’m so jealous.”

They’re sitting across from each other, folding their hands together. From her seat, Amy can see a flock of crows flying past chrome buildings and stick-thin trees. She takes one last sip from her frappuccino and rises to throw it away.

“You want to go?” Jake interrupts Amy’s daydreamy train of thought. “If you want, we could split up and go home, but I was thinking 一 what about heading to _Barnes & Noble _ across the street?”

“Aren’t they terrible competition for _Shelf Life?”_ Amy frowns, thinking of Jake’s loyalty (or lack thereof).

“Just listen, Ames,” Jake says, pretending to be exasperated. “We won’t buy anything; we can just brush up on book knowledge. And, you know, if we _accidentally_ drop a couple business cards for _Shelf Life,_ there’s no harm in that.”

“Sounds good, Peralta.” Amy stands up from the booth, puts three dollars in the tip jar, and rushes out of the coffeehouse. Jake isn’t far behind her, and they both run across the street into _Barnes & Noble. _

* * *

The bell on the door rings as Jake and Amy step in. A painfully cheerful employee greets them, and Amy pities retail workers right then and there.

“Ah, the smell of high prices and new paperbacks,” Jake murmurs. Amy shushes him, though she completely agrees. Luckily, the staff seem none the wiser.

“Okay, let’s do what anyone else would find strange yet dull: quiz each other on books,” Amy says, almost whispering. She gazes toward the dark shelves, widely spread and amply stocked.

Jake leads Amy toward a table, and they sit down across from each other. “Okay, here are the rules, Santiago.”

“Oh, I love rules!” Amy gushes.

“Perfect. So we list books. The other person has to name a book starting with the last letter of the title. If you spend longer than, say, ten seconds thinking, you lose. Gina and I play this all the time, but I think we should add some money to the wager.”

“Sounds good. How about, every time you ‘lose’, you owe the other person a dollar.” After Jake agrees, Amy pulls a legal pad and two pens from her purse. She draws a t-chart and explains they’ll tally each person’s earnings. “So, like, if you have nine tallies and I have ten, we each eliminate nine and you owe me a dollar.”

Jake begins the game. “Catcher in the Rye.”

“Ender’s Game.”

“East of Eden.”

“Uh …” Amy stutters. “North by Northwest.”

“Time out!” Jake has to stop himself from yelling, but his words still ring loudly in the bookstore. “That’s a movie!”

After they stop to look it up, it turns out ‘North by Northwest’ is a book after all. Amy lets out a sigh of relief and writes a tally mark on her side of the chart. Jake rolls his eyes but agrees.

This time, Amy begins. “Alice in Wonderland.”

“Um, Death of a Salesman.”

“New Moon.”

“Night.”

“The Giver.”

“Runaway Jury.”

Amy quietly curses for not being able to think of a book starting with ‘Y’. Leaning over, Jake writes a tally mark on the legal pad.

“Lord of the Rings,” Jake says.

“Sky Key,” Amy replies, sharp as a tack.

“You. I bet that’s a book.”

As it turns out, ‘You’ _is_ the title of a book. Jake chuckles as he oh-so-slowly adds a tally mark. Amy throws her pen at his head, but she misses, and he jokingly writes another tally just for her bad aim. Don’t worry; he scribbles it out.

* * *

Jake and Amy finally leave the bookstore two hours later, after playing a couple games (something about writing Hollywood plotlines based on book titles?) and ranting excessively. Amy now owes Jake three dollars, and he quietly gloats about this fact.

 

_“People come in all the time looking for books, and they’re all ‘uhhh, it was blue.’ Unbelievable! The title is on the title and on the spine.”_

_“You know what I hate? People talk about ‘real books’ and ‘online books’ like they’re two different things. The text is just moved onto a different media. It’s not that new!”_

_“I’m sick of books with covers of women 一 you know, with their eyes artistically cut off so you can just see their lipstick and perfect skin. I never want to see a decapitated-woman book cover again.”_

 

“What did we just do?” Amy asks, a bit light-headed. She walks out of _Barnes & Noble _ leaning on Jake’s arm for balance, and nearly trips over her own feet. “It feels like time stopped in there.”

“Yeah, I get that vibe, Santiago,” Jake mutters. His voice is gravelly, and he rubs at his bleary eyes. “Oh, we act like we’re _fifty.”_

“And I’m only twenty-eight!” Amy whines, almost cursing at the air. She’s acting like such an old person, but is too exhausted to stop.

“I’m thirty and this is all I’ll ever come to,” Jake complains, scowling at the ground. “I wear literary t-shirts and play word games with the local librarian.”

“Hey!” Amy gently swats at Jake’s shoulders. She misses and he laughs.

“Want to come over?” Jake asks, opening the passenger door for Amy with a _click._ “I’m too tired to be alone. Anyway, you know, I like your … company.”

Amy shakes her head, getting into Jake’s car and buckling her seat belt. “Um, sorry. Sorry. I wasn’t refusing to go over. I was, uh, shaking my head to feel more awake. How about we go get coffee at Starbucks, hmm?”

_“Again?”_

“You know you’d feel better with some caffeine in your system. I’ll pay, so my three-dollar-debt is cleared. How’s that sound?”

Jake giggles (yes, he’s truly sleep-drunk), extending a hand to Amy. He hasn’t gotten in the car yet, so he just stands above her in the parking lot and locks the car again. Amy takes his hand 一 quietly, happily 一 and drops it once she’s out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

She wishes she hadn’t let go, though, because it’s now too awkward to initiate another hand-hold and everything’s a silly mess now. It hurts less now that it’s nighttime. Jake murmurs ‘the usual’ to Amy, sleepily sitting down. She arrives at the table a few minutes after, holding out Jake’s precious vanilla bean frap and sipping at her own pink confection.

“Cotton candy frap? Where’d you find that, one of those secret menu pages on Instagram?” Jake chides.

“I got it last time, Peralta. You didn’t make fun of me then,” Amy says, her voice heavy with a numb, late-night sort of satisfaction.

“I wasn’t this tired then,” Jake retorts. He yawns and grins slightly, looking at Amy before gazing up at the high ceilings of this picturesque place. His eyes return to Amy, though, and she smiles over at him.

“Why are we this _exhausted?!_ We spent two hours talking about books on a Friday night. It’s not like we were drinking and partying.”

“We’re old, Ames.”

“You’re older,” Amy tactfully shoots back, and Jake laughs far longer than he realistically should.

* * *

Tonight is nice. Blissful, really.

Jake comes over to Amy’s side of the booth, and rests his head on her shoulder in exchange for his leather jacket. They fall asleep momentarily, Jake’s arms around Amy and his jacket on her back.

An employee named Wendy offers them free drinks for being such a cute couple. People like Wendy are the reason the world is still a good place. Neither Jake nor Amy rush to correct her, so they get another two frappucinos and continue to tease each other while in their sleep-deprived states.

Amy didn’t believe days like these were ahead, but all she needed were people like Charles and Jake and Wendy. Jake drives her home in his Mustang; he carries her to the car and lets her sleep in the backseat and everything. When Amy wakes up, she’s in Jake’s apartment, gazing up at the _Die Hard_ posters with wonder.

“I can’t believe I met you last Sunday,” Jake muses, once she’s sitting on his couch, wrapped in a blanket. “Now you’re wearing my jacket and making fun of my love of vanilla bean.”

“Jake, you know, we have, we have ….”

For a few seconds, Amy can’t even find the words to finish her sentence. “We _have_ something, you know? There’s just so much to learn about each other, and we’re so similar … I have to admit I’ve never gotten so close so fast with anyone else.”

Maybe it’s the light, or the time of day, but Jake looks good when he’s tired, all soft and caring and kind-hearted.

“Yeah, I understand completely,” he replies. “I’ve never met someone like you, Santiago. I know, I’m being super sappy, but I’m okay with that right now. In all honesty, I love you for talking with me and texting me book memes during my shifts.”

“I love you, too. I like your jacket and your bookish t-shirt. Your apartment’s not bad, either. It’s … it’s all good.” Amy’s struggling to keep her eyes open, but her heartbeat just accelerated a bit, so that helps.

“Is that _all_ you like me for? My wardrobe and my apartment?” Jake feigns demand, but he’s clearly too tired to do it effectively.

“Fine, Peralta,” Amy grumbles. She knows more than enough things to appreciate about Jake, though. “You’re funny. I mean it. You’re a nice guy without being one of those ‘nice guys finish last’ people. You have nice eyes, you know? And, um, you’re generous. I know because I’m never giving this jacket back.”

She smirks after saying that last line.

“Thank you, Ames. I’ll take what I can get.”

“What about me, huh? You think you can get away by only complimenting me for texting you?” Amy crosses her arms, trying to act stern, but she doubts it works.

“Okay. Amy Santiago. You are … really, truly incredible. You work two teaching jobs and you’re proud of yourself. You deserve to be. You’re really smart, because you try so hard. Your hair is super shiny, too. And you always manage to cheer me up, even when you’re texting me something dumb. So, yeah, you’re important to me. You and your nice smile and book memes.”

If it weren’t for the darkness, Jake would see her ears turning red.

“You know on _Friends,_ how Monica talks about _the night?”_ Jake’s words jar the quiet and Amy wishes she understood the reference.

After a few seconds of silence on Amy’s part, Jake explains, “It’s when you spend all night with someone and you learn everything about them. What do you say? Stay over with me and learn about me, scars and all?”

“It’s ‘warts and all’,” Amy unconsciously corrects.

“Yeah, but scars sound cooler,” Jake mutters.

Amy inches closer to Jake, hugging his jacket around her arms, and proposes they play ‘Never Have I Ever.’ He agrees at once, before she even rests her head on his shoulder and reads his t-shirt up close.

* * *

“Never have I ever questioned my sexuality,” Amy says. Jake slowly reached forward and writes himself a tally mark on the legal pad.

“This probably isn’t the best way to say this, but I’m bisexual?” he asks, his voice quivering a little. He knows you never can be _too_ safe when coming out. People defy expectations. They flare up when you least expect them to. They leave when you think they’ll stand with you.

Amy smiles widely and takes Jake in a warm hug. She smells like him, thanks to the leather jacket, and he’s endlessly happy at the prospect of being loved. “I love you, you know that? I’m bi, too, and I know how hard it can be, but you don’t have to afraid around me.”

He knows this is sappy, and he didn’t expect Amy to be biphobic, but he still blushes and hugs her once more.

(Okay, maybe twice more. Or thrice. Tonight is one of opportunity, and having a fellow bisexual nearby never hurts.)

“You’ve _never_ questioned before?” Jake asks, face filled with disbelief.

“I’m pretty lucky,” Amy admits. “My parents are really accepting, and I have seven brothers. Tons of them are part of the LGBT community, so I always had good role models growing up, and I just … always knew I was bi.”

“Unbelievable,” Jake replies, and they spend a whole hour talking about being bi.

* * *

“Never have I faked an orgasm,” Jake says, in between laughs.

Amy guiltily writes herself a tally, and Jake gasps dramatically. “No way! Who was it with?”

“My ex,” Amy admits. “Teddy. He was nice and everything, but he wasn’t exactly up to par. He told me he was nervous beforehand, and it was his first time, so I didn’t want to make him _feel bad._ I faked it and he believed me 一 for five months.”

“Oh, you miserable soul.” Jake shakes his head and Amy rolls her eyes. “Five months!”

“One night I just gave up pretending.” Amy giggles. “I just laid there and let him know how disappointing he was. We broke up right after he put his pants back on.”

* * *

“Never have I ever been walked in on,” Amy brags.

Jake thinks for a second before asking, “Does it count if the person came in _after_ the sex?”

“Yes, unless you were fully clothed and back to normal.” Amy takes a leap, handing Jake the legal pad. Her guess is correct.

“Spill,” she encourages.

“Okay, it was _years_ ago. I was in college, I was dating this guy, he stayed over, and my roommate found both of us in bed the next morning.”

“Oh,” Amy mumbles. “Uh, not as much _spilling_ as I thought.”

“That sounds _overtly_ sexual,”Jake says, scowling and batting Amy with the throw pillow on his couch.

* * *

“Never have I ever menstruated,” Jake says.

He writes the tally in for Amy, who scoffs and replies, “I mean, I’m on it right now. I’m not ashamed.”

Jake’s eyes widen and he blurts out, “Do you need anything? There’s a bag of pads in the bathroom and I do … eat food, so you can share. Unless you want fancy cravings food. Then I could go out and get it? Unless it was really far, or foreign. Then try Charles.”

Amy puts her hand on Jake’s shoulder and rolls her eyes. “Thanks, Jake. I’m fine, really. Also, I’m glad you do _eat food.”_

Jake awkwardly nods until Amy mutters, “I could tell you the story of my first period.”

“Do tell,” he responds, sitting upright.

“I was fifteen,” Amy begins, and Jake raises an eyebrow. “I was really jealous of all my friends, and I told everyone when I got it. My mom threw me a party and all my brothers had to sign the _special card._ At the time, I felt really mature, but it’s one big embarrassment looking back on it. After the initial surprise, I just wanted to sleep for a week.”

Jake carefully listens as Amy explains the various annoyances of blood. When he suggests he write Amy an updated period card, she begs him not to.

* * *

“Never have I ever dated a girl,” Amy admits. Jake puts his tally mark down and smiles softly.

“I’m so jealous!” Amy groans. “I’ve liked tons of girls, but it’s so hard finding another sapphic willing to date you.”

“I mean, I’ve liked tons of guys,” Jake defends himself.

“That’s different!” Amy protests. “You told me about that guy you slept with in college! It’s not the same.”

“You don’t have to date girls to prove you’re bi, Amy,” Jake replies.

“I know,” Amy says, “but dating a girl would be so fun!”

Jake hugs Amy and listens as she rants. They start talking about girl and boy crushes again, and end ‘Never Have I Ever’ to just confide in each other.

“Thanks, Jake.”

“No problem, Ames. I love you and your book memes and girl crushes. You wouldn’t be _you_ without any part of yourself. I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m glad you’re so easy to relate to.”

* * *

 

_[yesterday, thursday: opened texts]_

**deckle edge:** amy santiagoooo  
**deckle edge:** pls cheer me up  
**deckle edge:** my shift is super dullll  
**deckle edge:** why dont people read more

 **angel cake:** fiiine  
**angel cake:** ill relate to you with literature!!  
**angel cake:** not even joking

 **deckle edge:** hey  
**deckle edge:** we just got shipments of those illustrated harry potter books??  
**deckle edge:** im in love and ive never even read the series

 **angel cake:** i hate you for never reading harry potter  
**angel cake:** you want to hear a literature joke?  
**angel cake:** cursed child  
**angel cake:** thats it

 **deckle edge:** ahaha i kinda get that  
**deckle edge:** i only read reviews online tho  
**deckle edge:** they made the trolley lady a monster???

 **angel cake:** yeah they did  
**angel cake:** hellooo?  
**angel cake:** peralta you there?

 **deckle edge:** sorry!!  
**deckle edge:** i just started reading harry potter  & the sorcerers stone  
**deckle edge:** it’s so good,,,why didnt you make me do this earlier ?

 **angel cake:** how far are you? are you crying yet?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! comments/kudos are wonderful input :))


	4. commencer (to begin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ordinarily, Jake would cross his fingers, but Amy moves closer to him and he assumes he doesn’t even need luck at this point.

“You talk in your sleep,” Amy mumbles at eight in the morning. She just woke up, the ceiling blurry before her. “Are we cuddling?”

There must be some explanation for the warmth in the bed. She’s wearing one of Jake’s _Shelf Life_ t-shirts, her hair messily sprawled over one of his pillows. He told her he’d sleep on the couch, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Yeah,” Jake musters. He’s half-awake and blissful, never wanting to let go of Amy. Their legs are intertwined in his queen-size bed, and they’re sleepily spooning. “Why, do you want to stop?”

Ordinarily, Jake would cross his fingers, but Amy moves closer to him and he assumes he doesn’t even _need_ luck at this point.

“No, it’s nice,” Amy muses. “This should feel weird, right? It doesn’t. I don’t know if that’s good.”

It doesn’t make sense. She should find this awkward, repulsive. Around Jake, though, the way things _should_ work rarely applies. This lazy morning is no different, as rays of sunlight flash against the bedroom wall (they’re in his bedroom!) and Amy pulls her bra strap up her shoulder.

Jake rolls over, now lying face to face with Amy, and says, “No, I 一 I get it. It feels almost _too_ natural.”

Amy gently nods, reaching for her glasses on the bedside table. Her eyes fall upon Jake’s alarm clock (it's not battery operated, she sees. No wonder he’s always late.) “Oh, fuck, it’s 8:10.”

“It’s Saturday!” Jake complains, but Amy’s already out of bed and he’s instantly lonelier.

“Isn’t Charles coming over?” Amy asks, shielding her eyes from the light streaming from Jake’s window. “He told me over and _over_ yesterday about how excited he was to see _Die Hard_ again.”

“Oh, great,” Jake groans, getting out of bed at once. He and Amy rush into the bathroom, trying to hasten the day-old morning routine as much as possible. At one point, Jake elbows Amy in the face while brushing his teeth, and her glasses nearly go flying.

“Sorry,” he manages. Amy simply chuckles and mentions she should wear her librarian glasses, with the string around her neck, if she’s going to stay over again. 

She grabs yesterday’s clothes and goes into his closet to change, until Jake opens the door and slams it shut within the same second. “Sorry again!” he yells, and Amy shouts ‘no problem’ back.

When she leaves after a few frustrating moments, Jake is silent until Amy tells him not to sweat it. “Now _I’ve_ been walked in on,” she smirks, and he high-fives her in a strange act of awe.

“Is it bad that I don’t want to go?” Amy asks, as they walk down to his kitchen for breakfast. He pulls out a box of muffins and says, “No, not really. I’d like it if you stayed.”

They resolve to watch _Die Hard_ with Charles; after all, it’s not like they actually did anything wrong last night. Even if Amy’s embarrassed to wear yesterday’s wrinkled clothes, it’s okay. They’re okay. It’s fine, right?

They’re okay. It’s fine, right?

* * *

It was fine. Charles rang the doorbell, Amy opened the door, and Jake explained their predicament. They watched _Die Hard_ together and talked about their work weeks. Charles gave Jake and Amy another cooking lesson (spaghetti, not too bad) and they all go their separate ways afterward.

Jake hugs both Amy and Charles goodbye, whispering ‘I’ll text you’ to Amy alone, and the door slams behind her. He really shouldn’t miss having company, but the feeling engulfs him nonetheless.

* * *

_[today, saturday: opened texts]_

**deckle edge:** hows your day been?  
**deckle edge:** i have the day off + im v bored

 **angel cake:** its been good!  
**angel cake:** my art history kids have their exam tuesday, so im off the hook from teaching

 **deckle edge:** aww, thats great!  
**deckle edge:** have any summer plans?  
**deckle edge:** i mean i assume teachers and librarians dont work over the summer

 **angel cake:** uh, im not sure at this point!  
**angel cake:** idk, i might need to work over the summer  
**angel cake:** yay, the world underpays and undervalues teachers :/  
**angel cake:** any ideas?

 **deckle edge:** hold on, im going to skype u soon  
**deckle edge:** its important, ok?  
**deckle edge:** just remember gina recently got her dance teacher certification  
**deckle edge:** alright, gotta go

* * *

The Monday after summer begins, when the art history exams are over and the library has closed, Amy Santiago walks into _Shelf Life._ She wears her nicest pantsuit. There’s a binder full of ideas in her purse, although she doesn’t dare let anyone see. Amy calmly enters Terry’s office for an interview, and emerges after fifteen minutes.

“Welcome to the store, Amy,” Terry congratulates. “Gina’s leaving us to teach dance at Kingston Academy, so we’re glad to have you with us.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Jeffords, is Jake Peralta working today?” Amy nervous asks.

“Please, call me Terry,” he offers. “Yes, Jake _is_ working today. Check the back room, alright?”

“Great, thank you so much,” Amy replies. She confidently walks out of Terry’s office, finding Jake in the depths of the storage room.

* * *

_[today, monday: opened texts]_

**angel cake:** stop reading harry potter for a sec, nerd  
**angel cake:** just look up

* * *

“Amy Santiago.” Jake looks up, still a little bit in awe at the sight of her face. “You got the job?”

“Yeah,” Amy confirms, happily nodding and pulling Jake into a friendly hug. “It’s a temporary thing; it’s all sorted out. I start today and end in late August, to go back to Foster High.”

“Glad to have you aboard. Ready for that tour I promised?”

Jake abandons his copy of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._ Together, they walk out of the back room and Amy dons an official store name tag.

“So, the genres in fiction are alphabetized: fantasy, historical, horror, mystery, realistic, and science fiction. And the books within those genres are also in alphabetical order. Same goes for nonfiction: academic, biography, how-to, and self-help. There are definitely some genres I’m missing, but you get the gist,” Jake explains. 

Amy observes _Shelf Life._ There are two rows of well-stocked bookshelves in the middle, with tables promoting books in the middle, forming a row of their own. The store's ceiling is high, and it’s flooded with natural light. Its many windows are framed with green curtains. The place is filled with plants. Its walls are papered in a deep, coffee-colored brown.

“It looks so nice here!” Amy compliments. Framing the store, shelves of special books stand against the walls. “LGBT. Gardening. Racial diversity. Musical theatre. Female protagonists. Any reason why these sections are dedicated to specific topics?”

“Holt, the owner, likes to shine a spotlight on certain areas of expertise,” Jake replies. “I know the feminist, racial diversity, and LGBT shelves never move. All those books are in our normal shelves, but these displays just make it easier for customers to shop. As for gardening and musical theatre, people leave suggestions in our box and we change the shelf content every month.”

“Seems this store works like a well-oiled machine,” Amy comments.

“You could say that,” Jake answers. “So, what do you want to start with? I usually clean up around the store, help customers find books, and unpack new shipments. Oh, and I forgot!”

He hands her a _Shelf Life_ membership card. “You get 20% off for being an employee, but I’m not sure if it lasts when you go back to school.”

“I wish I could work here all the time,” Amy grumbles. “I love it here already! It’s not fair.”

“Could you leave one of your day jobs?” Jake suggests, but Amy only shakes her head. “I’m the only art history teacher, and I love being the librarian.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Just enjoy the months you have here,” Jake consoles.

Amy sighs. She knows she’s busy all day during the school year: wake up, teach art history, work at the library. Along with that, she has to work on her lesson plans, finish up library projects, go to book club, learn to cook with Charles, and have free time for herself.

Still, she can dream, can’t she?

A nasal voice pierces the quiet of the bookstore. “Excuse me! I’d like some assistance, if you don’t mind. Last month, I was reading a _blue_ book, but I lost it, and I’d like to purchase another copy.”

Jake walks toward the woman, a false smile plastered on his face as he emerges from the bookshelves. “No problem! Would you describe this book, please?”

The woman standing at the counter is blonde, with a soccer-mom haircut and dark eyes. She’s wearing leopard-print high heels, Amy notices. “It was, er, about human _relations.”_

“Ma’am, you do realize most books are about human relationships,” Amy says.

Jake ignores her and asks, “Excuse me, was this novel in particular about coitus?”

His voice is crisp and polite, more so than Amy’s ever heard. The woman gives a humiliated nod, and Jake shows her to the romance section.

“Nice job,” Amy responds, once he’s back. She’s embarrassed she couldn’t help the woman, really. “You sound really … formal.”

Jake shrugs. “It’s my retail voice. You pick it up after dealing with enough customers. Don’t sweat it if you have some trouble at first. When you work in customer service, anything can happen.”

“Would you help me practice my retail voice?” Amy asks, and Jake agrees immediately.

* * *

Two months after starting work at _Shelf Life,_ Amy’s pretty good at handling customers. She and Jake don’t have to rehearse the retail voice after her first day, and everything calms down. Amy watches as Jake rushes through the _Harry Potter_ series, laughing as he cheers alongside the books’ antics and tidbits of information.

They continue to go to book sales, just as they did the day they met, and Charles keeps teaching them to cook. After several Skype calls and face-to-face meetings with Charles, Jake and Amy find they can make a (somewhat healthy, relatively simple) full-course dinner on their own. It’s pretty exciting the first time they bite into their own food and don’t want to stop eating.

Terry promotes Jake to assistant manager, complete with a raise and a cake, and Amy takes a picture of the occasion to remember her time at _Shelf Life._ She’s learned a lot: how to navigate the store and organize the specialized shelves, the correct way to unpack and shelve book shipments. Amy’s met everyone from sobbing four-year-olds, begging their mothers to stay, to grumpy octogenarians, complaining the rise in e-books is ruining the world.

Although school doesn’t start until late August and it’s only the end of July, teachers are expected to return in August for meetings and preparation. In the back of her mind, Amy is dreading the end of her momentary career over at the bookstore. The school library, with its stagnant pace and little computer lab, just isn’t the same as the _excitement_ at _Shelf Life._

There, people bustle in and make suggestions because they _care;_ they come for a reason and sit in for hours because they prefer it to home. Amy can’t just walk away from one of the best places in her life, but she has to. A contract looms in her memory, binding her to Foster High, a school of budget cuts and broken clocks and an over-fixation on football.

She said she loved this, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! comments/kudos are always appreciated <3


	5. réaliser (to realize)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s the same guy she’s always known, who integrated terrible words into her vocabulary (she’s never going to forgive him for that) and bought her a leather jacket for their friend-aversary, yet she can’t help but dream.

_[today, wednesday: opened texts]_

**sophia perez:** amy !!!  
**sophia perez:** don’t forget we have the staff meeting this friday  
**sophia perez:** i heard they have a surprise for the library dept ;)

* * *

Amy takes the day off on Friday. Wearing her favorite dress, she walks into Foster High School’s library and grins a little when she sees the clock on the wall. Foster is famous for overspending on extravagances and not keeping its necessities in check, and this is no different.

The clock in the library reads 12:60 PM.

She really _should_ be disappointed in her school district’s abysmal sense of priority and budgeting, but it’s been so long since she stepped foot in Foster High. Chuckling, she snaps a picture and makes a mental reminder to tell Jake later.

It’s several minutes (until 12:68, if she’s using Foster’s strange time zone) until Sophia enters, dressed in a burgundy skirt and a white dress shirt. She cut her hair, Amy notices, and is smiling widely at the prospect of change for the library. A twinge of dissatisfaction enters Amy’s heart, wondering why _she_ didn’t bother to dress up as nicely.

Luckily, Sophia and Amy hit it off after not seeing each other all summer. The envy begins to fade away, all but receding once Sophia tells Amy how much she wants to visit _Shelf Life_ sometime.

Unluckily, when a stern school administrator walks into the library office, both Sophia and Amy stop talking at once.

* * *

“We at Foster have had to cope with budget changes,” the administrator admits. His voice is gruff and his tie’s too tight, Amy silently notices. “As you see with the changes in the past few months, we can’t afford to continue spending as we have in the past. Foster simply has too many demanding new tasks to fund. Beginning next year, we are eliminating one library job in favor of a promotion for the other. This, we hope, will motivate the remaining worker while saving several thousand dollars for the district.”

Amy doesn’t dare say anything. Sophia Perez is her coworker, her friend, perhaps someone more competitive than anyone else she’s ever met, impeccably dressed and sitting upright with perfect posture.

With a confident turn, Sophia nods toward the administrator. “But of course. We understand, don’t we, Amy?”

Suddenly, Amy regrets wearing her beige dress and leaving her shift at _Shelf Life._ Her virtues are too plain, her outfit even more so, seeming more and more foolish by the minute as she sits in silence at a table for three. She would give anything to be back at the bookstore, talking with Jake about his _Harry Potter_ conspiracies and laughing over memos from the suggestion box.

“Miss Perez, we’re proud to promote you from junior to senior librarian. We will send you an updated schedule of preparations and meetings you must attend and administer to. Miss Santiago, we’re sorry to let you go from the FHS library, but you’ll continue working here through your art history position. Please review your art history curriculum, and set up classroom the week before school begins.”

With a nod and a polite ‘goodbye’, the administrator leaves the library. Amy’s head is blurry; she’s been a librarian for four years and, in a ten-minute meeting, her position’s been eliminated.

“Ames, I’m so sorry. I really wish there was something I could do,” Sophia says, turning to Amy and embracing her. “I feel like it’s all my fault. I swear, I heard there was a change coming, but I never knew they’d let you go.”

Amy can’t bring herself to hate Sophia 一 nor can she hate Sophia’s short black hair and expertise and perfect outfit and new job with a _pay raise._ She knew the school was looking for a senior librarian, but she never dreamed she’d be fired while someone else filled the position.

“It’s okay. I still have my art history students, you know, and I told you I’ve been working for the last two months at the bookstore. Maybe I’ll start working afternoons there. I’ll see,” Amy replies, wishing with all her heart she won’t cry in front of Sophia. “Speaking of the bookstore, I still have a shift to fill. I never thought our meeting would be so short, so I can go back and book some time. Have a good time as senior librarian, Soph, and I’ll see you when school starts.”

They walk to the parking lot together before driving off separately. Sophia’s silver Benz pulls out first, nearly flashing in the midday sun before smoothly leaving Amy behind.

Amy isn’t quite so fast. She sits in the near-empty parking lot, tears slowly trailing down her cheeks, and pulls her legal pad out of her purse. With one job gone and (possibly) another taken on, she has to change everything. Frustratedly sighing and flipping past a nicely made flowchart about coffee costs, Amy turns to a blank page and begins yet another list of ways to save money.

**Cutting Costs: Ideas: List #9.**

For one thing, she can’t afford to keep making bets with Jake; she loses too often to make the victories worth it (it’s a simple cost-benefit analysis, Amy, why didn’t you think of this before?)

After nearly half an hour and a dozen scribbled-out ideas, Amy pulls out of the school parking lot and drives back to _Shelf Life._ Time to march into Terry’s office and ask if she can work past August.

Amy can’t cross her fingers while she drives, but she would if she could.

* * *

Jake greets Amy as soon as she returns to the bookstore. She stumbles into him when they reunite, pretty sure her eyes are still raw and red from crying once she parked at _Shelf Life._ Amy can tell Jake doesn’t quite know what to do, by the way he stays quiet until she can hear his heartbeat, but she thinks he’s doing a pretty good job.

“I have to talk to you,” Amy says gravely, locking her knees from the stress. _Defense mechanism,_ she thinks, as she tries to stand as still as possible.

Jake guides her into the back room, opening the door for her and even giving her the _good_ swivel chair. “What’s wrong, Ames?”

Amy turns, drying a tear on the sleeve of her dress. She’s too stressed to care about how expensive it is, only clearing her throat before answering. “I went to the meeting at Foster High. I told you that. The whole district has to deal with budget cuts. You know. So, uh, they eliminated my job … surprise? I suspected something was up, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad.”

There’s a short, pitiful silence before Jake pulls Amy into a reassuring hug. She cries against his shirt as his arms envelop her; he doesn’t know what to say, only how to ease the emptiness.

“I started re-budgeting in the car on my stupid yellow legal pad,” Amy says, holding back tears and sniffling. Jake doesn’t dare poke fun of her. Not here, not now. He knows better.

“I have to work here in the afternoons, or get another job. Maybe Terry could give me more hours? I still have my art history job, but they could always cut my classes short or limit my pay, and I 一 and I have to stop spending so much. Duh.”

“That sounds good,” Jake consoles, keeping his voice low and calm. “You have a plan. You’re in control. You’re alright. With your library qualifications, I’m sure Terry will give you more hours. You’re going to be okay.”

He hands Amy a box of tissues, and she blows her nose before talking.

“Okay, so no more bets. No more cooking classes. Fewer runs to Starbucks,” Amy weakly counts on her fingers. “You think you could loan me some money? Not much, just a couple hundred dollars.”

She hates feeling dependent, but it’s all she has.

“Yeah, that’s perfectly fine,” Jake says. “I’ll do anything I can to help you out.”

“Thank you,” Amy responds. “You know what the worst thing about all this is?”

“What?”

“Not only did the other librarian 一 you know, Sophia 一 get to keep her job, but she got a _promotion.”_

“Illegal,” Jake announces, and Amy smiles for what feels like the first time today. “How can they _do_ that to you?”

“Sophia’s now senior librarian. The administrator said the promotion and the bonus would _motivate_ her to work harder, while they’d save the money they _used_ to pay me. It’s ridiculous,” Amy scoffs. “What, like junior librarians don’t do their jobs? As if I look at my paycheck and decide how much effort to put in? I _hate_ the American education system!”

They sit and talk for a while, taking turns insulting Foster High School and the godforsaken district budget cuts (“You know, I bet they don’t cut _football._ Stupid sports. Stupid broken clocks and broken system and broken student life.”)

“Hey, Terry just got off the phone,” Jake says, after Amy’s face isn’t quite so tearstained anymore. “You want to go talk to him about working more hours and taking on more responsibility?”

“Yeah, I’ll go do that,” Amy replies, rising from the swivel chair (she secretly wonders if Jake will take her swivel chair once she leaves) and smoothing her dress out.

“Oh, by the way, you look really nice. I didn’t say anything when you walked in, ‘cause you were crying, but … you’re too pretty to not compliment.”

“Thank you! It’s my favorite dress.” Amy twirls a little before walking out of the storage room. The dress isn’t so bad after all, she thinks, as she walks to Terry’s office and knocks twice on the door.

As soon as she’s gone, Jake tries commit Amy to memory, spinning and smiling in that rosy beige dress, long sleeves fringed with lace and hem covered with sewn flowers. Jake sighs, thinks about how much longer he’ll be working with Amy, and feels guilty for even considering the loss of her job a good thing.

The same guilt he’d been pushing away for a while now begins to fill his chest. _There it is again,_ he mutters, sure Amy’s out of earshot.

* * *

“And _then,_ she yelled at me for not watching her son!” Jake complains. He’s shoulder-deep in children’s books, carrying and re-shelving them all over the store. An ignorant customer came in, let her child run loose, and blamed Jake for not being a better babysitter.

“It’s retail,” Amy replies. “What else is new? Customers want you to do everything for them, but they don’t want you to get acknowledged or, heaven forbid, _respected_ for your hard work.”

She’s carrying every _Berenstain Bears_ book ever printed, trying to fix a child’s mistake. Jake holds the _Junie B. Jones_ series to his chest, walking with Amy toward the children’s section. How a seven-year-old managed to remove and relocate so many books is beyond them.

Just as Jake promised, everything worked out well. With Amy’s credentials, Terry both gave her more hours and promoted her to assistant manager alongside Jake. Amy teaches art history in the mornings and comes to work at _Shelf Life_ in the afternoons.

Thankfully, Charles resumed Amy’s cooking lessons as usual. Amy can finally make crème brûlée (although Jake’s not allowed to use the blowtorch; there was an unfortunate incident involving him, the dessert, and singed eyebrows a while back.)

Jake loans Amy two hundred dollars, oh-so-carefully counting the bills before putting them in an old suitcase of his. He insists, using his extensive knowledge of watching crime shows, that _all_ the cool people make their transactions like this. Amy snorts before taking a twenty-dollar bill and offering they go somewhere to celebrate. 

Though Amy _said_ she'd cut back, she finds she can't give up cotton candy frappucinos. It's all Jake's fault for insisting they never really go straight home anyway. It’s always a trip to one of their apartments, just as it was when they first met, and maybe a stop at _Starbucks_ on the way home. Of course, they charge a couple bucks every time. Amy can't _not_ tip, not when Wendy greets them every time they walk in (she probably thinks they're dating, doesn't she?) and that booth in the back is basically the origin of her friendship with Jake. The origin of _the night._

Home can be Jake’s place, where the _Die Hard_ poster hangs above the couch and Amy keeps a spare toothbrush and change of clothes in his room (just in case, right?). Home is also Amy’s apartment, of course, but it always feels better once Jake walks in.

They still trade books from discount sales, or rant about what happened at work. Amy always brings up deckle edges just to get a rise out of him.

Amy knows home can be more than one place at a time; home is _Shelf Life_ and _Starbucks_ and _Barnes & Noble _ too; it’s the local library or Charles’ kitchen or Foster High School.

One night, when she wakes up in Jake’s bed and she realizes he carried her from the couch, she realizes everything feels nicer with him and _that’s_ when her heart races, just the way it did when they met. She looks over at him.

He still talks in his sleep. Something about silver crowns and broken windows. A mix between intelligible and coded as usual. Amy never tells Jake, but she likes listening to him sleeptalk. His mind travels places hers can't even comprehend; right now, she believes, he's narrating a fantasy version of _Die Hard._

Amy's suspicions are confirmed when Jake murmurs 'welcome to the party, pal' in a contorted British accent. 

He’s the same guy she’s always known, who integrated terrible words into her vocabulary (she’s never going to forgive him for that) and bought her a leather jacket for their friend-aversary, yet she can’t help but dream about making a future with him.

Cool, cool cool cool cool cool. This is bad.

She’s also going to _kill_ him for racking her speech with made-up words and silly sayings, but that’s another problem for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! comments/kudos are greatly appreciated, especially any and all comments. if you don't know what to say, just comment a '<3' and it'll still make my day.


	6. cacher (to hide)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake Peralta is easy on the eyes, with his soft smirk and silly expressions. Amy’s known for far too long.

_[today, saturday: opened texts]_

**santiago style:** help me please  
**santiago style:** i have a romantic-ish friend problem at work???  
**santiago style:** i know its 4 a.m. but this is really important  
**santiago style:** if you answer i swear ill love u forever  
**santiago style:** ill buy you a new set of frosting bags!!  
**santiago style:** darn that didnt work :(((

* * *

The next morning, Amy makes pancakes with chocolate chips. She wanted to make them heart-shaped, but figured that would be too telling. Jake walks into the kitchen wearing a Nakatomi Plaza Security t-shirt and boxers, his hair soft and messy, and Amy tries not to stare.

“Morning,” she muses. “I made us breakfast. Please don’t eat all of mine; this is the only thing I have going for me.”

“The _only_ thing?” Jake asks, smirking and sitting down. “No art history career? No bookstore job? No cool friend at said bookstore who helps eat all your pancakes?”

“Nope,” Amy frowns. “There is this one guy at the bookstore I know, but I don’t know if he thinks of me as a friend.” She winks at him, then wonders if ‘just friends’ do that.

“We slept in the same _bed_ last night, Ames.” Jake smiles gently and sits down to eat. “We have a friend-aversary. If you don’t think I’m cool, just tell me.”

“You’re not,” Amy jokes, but she’s lying and he knows it. “Anyway, I made pancakes because I’m on my period, and accomplishing things cheers me up.”

“What an Amy Santiago thing to say,” Jake replies. “Also, pads are in the bathroom, in the cabinet under the sink.”

“I know that, Jake. I stay here all the time.”

“Just trying to help! It’s not my fault you like to take my stuff.”

“That was one time!” Amy protests. “The store ran out of the pads I like!”

“Maybe if you were less picky, you wouldn’t have to take pads from me.”

Amy shushes him and goes back to eating pancakes. She gets up and rummages around for the container of powdered sugar. 

“Sorry, I moved it,” Jake says. “It’s to the left, farther up.”

When Amy returns to the breakfast table, her phone is lying face down and vibrating rapidly.

* * *

_[today, saturday: opened texts]_

**the best boyle:** sure, i’ll talk with you!!!  
**the best boyle:** who is it???  
**the best boyle:** oooh, is it some hot teacher at school?  
**the best boyle:** or is it someone at shelf life??  
**the best boyle:** when you have TWO JOBS, it makes guessing a lot harder :///

* * *

Amy blushes silently, turning her phone off and continuing to talk to Jake. “Someday, you’re going to stay over at my place and I’m going to catch you stealing my stuff.”

“What would I _possibly_ take from your bathroom, Santiago?” Jake asks.

“Um, I don’t know, condoms?” She probably shouldn’t have said that.

“Why would I go to my friend’s apartment to have sex?” Jake raises an eyebrow.

Amy shrugs and stutters. “Um, I … I don’t know. You tell me.” Secretly, her heart is racing, but she doesn’t dare let a word slip.

* * *

Three months later, Amy has her class off from teaching when Charles knocks on the door. She gets up, smoothing her black skirt and greeting him. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Amy asks.

“Uh, I came to talk to you about Jake,” Charles says.

“Oh, not _again,”_ Amy groans. Ever since she told Charles, the mention of Jake’s name elicits endless hinting and conspiracy. “Listen, we’re just friends. We’ve been friends for ages.”

“You two are friends _and_ coworkers,” Charles replies, smirking over at Amy. “Trust me, something could happen between you two.”

“You two are best friends, and Jake knows we work at the same place! There’s no way he would let anything slip, _if_ he’s interested in me at all,” Amy argues. “It’s too complicated to fall in love with a fellow assistant manager, not to mention a good friend. I’m just giving up on love.”

“You said that last week, Amy,” Charles chides. “You act like you can outrun love, like it can’t touch you, but you’re already in love with Jake!”

“I’m not _in love,_ Charles.” Amy rolls her eyes. “I just casually like him. You know, if he asked me out, I’d have a hard time saying no. But I won’t make the first move! With us, it’s light and breezy. That’s all we are.”

“Just tell him already. Trust me, I’m sure he’d be glad to just go to dinner with you.”

“I can’t do that! We work together, we’re super close … I sleep in his _bed_ when we stay up talking or drinking, for heaven’s sake! I’d ruin everything if I told him. I’ll just take my time and get over him.”

“Alright,” Charles says. “Just a reminder you can’t ‘take your time’ right now. Lunch starts in a minute, and you have your shift at the bookstore right after.”

“Bye, Charles!” Amy waves. “Thank you for letting me confide in you.”

“No problem, Amy,” Charles answers, returning to his classroom. “Have a good time at _Shelf Life._ Try not to fixate on your terrible crush.”

“Oh, get out!” Amy eats her sandwich and watches _Parks and Recreation_ alone. She anxiously checks her watch, unsure whether or not she’s more excited to see Jake or to see _Shelf Life_ as a whole.

* * *

Two more months pass, and Amy doesn’t tell another soul about how she feels about Jake. Charles isn’t terrific at keeping secrets, but he’s at least faithful and kind. Amy continues life as usual 一 learning to cook, teaching art history, working at the bookstore 一 and tries to push away how much she likes Jake.

It’s difficult to work at _Shelf Life_ sometimes, because so many people stream in and (for some reason) they all seem to be attractive. Maybe it’s just because Jake and Amy are both bisexual, but there are so many good-looking people they end up making a secret code. By now, Jake’s finished reading the _Harry Potter_ series, and he and Amy ask each other where the books are to indicate which customer they find attractive. The characters they discuss relate to the people they’re talking about, usually due to physical characteristics.

“Don’t you think Luna Lovegood is an interesting character?” Amy asks, while she straightens the shelves, looking at a blonde woman in glasses currently studying. 

“Yeah, but I think Neville Longbottom was better written,” Jake counters. He’s looking across the store at a man in a brown leather jacket, reading from the ‘gardening’ section and wandering around. “Pardon me, but I think I’ll go ask if he needs help.” 

Amy can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy when Jake approaches the man in the leather jacket, even if he returns just a moment later. Of course she can’t police Jake, but she simply wishes she didn’t like him so much. Jake Peralta is easy on the eyes, with his soft smirk and silly expressions. Amy’s known for far too long. He works hard as long as he wants to, dutifully guiding customers around _Shelf Life,_ and stays after hours when Amy needs the overtime. Maybe it’s lovesickness, or simple admiration, but there’s no reason to dislike him that can’t be superseded by another of his qualities.

Sometimes Amy gazes off into the distance and thinks about how lucky she is to know him so well. Yes, people who come into _Shelf Life_ see his grin and leather jacket and nametag, but she gets to hear him sing in the shower and tell stories when he’s drunk. Amy gets to stay over at Jake’s apartment, curling up against his chest. _His_ refrigerator slowly fills with her favorite foods. _His_ closet now holds too many of her pantsuits.

Her yellow legal pad starts from their first bet at _Barnes & Noble, _ when they named books and counted down the seconds of hesitation, to their latest wager. (They bet anyone who could make cupcakes and convince Charles they were catered would earn $20 from the other. Nobody won.) Amy can’t believe she fell her for her coworker. She’s not even sure _when_ it happened, only that she can’t go a week without talking to Jake. If she doesn’t hear him gossip about the store’s customers or complain about books with stickers on them, she’s certain her life wouldn’t be the same. Of course, Amy can only cross her fingers, try to resolve this ridiculous crush, and hope Jake never finds out.

It’ll all work out, right?

* * *

“Good afternoon, Amy!” a familiar, formal voice enters _Shelf Life_ at half past one on a Monday, also known as Amy’s least favorite time in the day on her least favorite day of the week. She isn’t in the mood to deal with district superintendent Madeline Wuntch right now. Amy feels like isolated prey spotted in the middle of a field, wildly glancing around the store for some sort of an escape mechanism.

“Good morning, Superintendent Wuntch!” Amy moves to shake her hand and almost salutes the superintendent out of sheer panic. “How are you this fine day?” Her words are automated, as if she’s playing a part in a film, and she can hardly remember speaking once she closes her mouth.

“I’m doing well, Miss Santiago, but I came to see how you were.”

“Excuse me, Superintendent?”

“We, as a _district,_ like to see some progress with our employees,” Wuntch says, strolling through the store with a menacing stare. “ _Especially_ those who have recently been laid off. Tell me, miss, how _is_ life treating you?”

Amy’s heart is throbbing in her chest, and her palms are instantly sweaty. “Uh, Superintendent-”

“If you’re going to begin a sentence, Santiago, do so correctly,” Wuntch snaps.

“My apologies, Superintendent Wuntch. Truth be told, life is treating me excellently,” Amy replies, forcing the smile on her face. She doesn’t exactly know where Wuntch is going with this conversation, but she has to follow perfectly. “I’m the assistant store manager here at this bookstore, and I just love teaching art history from first through third period.”

“Fine, fine,” Superintendent Wuntch nods. Her gaze remains sharp as a knife, and she doesn’t turn her head when the bell on the door rings. “How is your _personal _life? I trust you plan to wed a husband?”__

__“Excuse me?” Amy stutters. She’s openly bisexual at school, as the superintendent should know, but this confrontation feels like a mind game. For her own good, Amy decides to keep all mentions of her bisexuality out of this conversation. There are rumors Wuntch once burnt a pride flag on school property._ _

__“Foster High School covers your medical insurance,” the superintendent begins, and Amy’s mind clears._ _

__So this is why a district superintendent happened to _drop in_ at the bookstore, Amy figures. It's still a wild guess, but she assumes the school board wants to check teachers’ need for insurance coverage due to budget cuts. Staff meetings have danced around and hinted at this topic for weeks._ _

__“We at Foster would like to ascertain whether you require coverage for your husband and future children.”_ _

__There it is._ _

__“Superintendent, though I’m unmarried, I do plan to have children,” Amy responds, trying to remain candid yet polite. It’s a balance of using immaculate vocabulary and her falsest, brightest smile._ _

__“Very helpful, Miss Santiago,” Wuntch says. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, at what age do you plan to do so?”_ _

__“I can’t answer that, superintendent. I’m not married, and I can’t estimate how long conception will take,” Amy’s heart is pounding and her stomach is twisting, but the tone in her voice remains inviting. She really, really doesn’t want to talk about impregnation with one of her least favorite people on the planet (Wuntch was around number seven, but she’s moved up four or five ranks since she walked into the bookstore.)_ _

__“Oh,” the superintendent says pettily. “You _should_ plan ahead, for your own sake if not for the district’s. You know what they say about your biological clock. Personally, I recommend _changing_ your standards if you ever hope to be satisfied.”_ _

__There are alarms going off in Amy’s head. Wuntch’s words are echoing. Amy can’t tell if she’s shaking, from fear and offense and whatever evils the superintendent brought with her._ _

__“But, you see, superintendent, I’m already in a romantic relationship.”_ _

___What is she saying?_ _ _

__“Good for you, Miss Santiago. If you don’t mind, introduce me to meet the young man sometime.”_ _

__Amy wishes she hadn’t just told the superintendent she was dating someone, but her mouth feels disconnected from her brain and nothing is working as it should. Finally, Wuntch leaves to wander around in the nonfiction section, out of Amy’s hair._ _

__She did notice the superintendent sneer when walking past the LGBT shelves. Though she hardly knows Madeline Wuntch, Amy already wants her gone._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you!!! i love u!!! if you comment i will probably blush all day <3


	7. rêver (to dream)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I know,” Amy argues, “but I can’t do anything! She’s the superintendent, and I’m only a teacher. Jake was nearby, and I needed a cover because Wuntch was being so critical, so I just said he was my boyfriend.”_

_[today, monday: opened texts]_

**deckle edge:** hey, are you alright?  
**deckle edge:** i saw a scary blond umbridge walk in and talk to you???  
**deckle edge:** i cant read lips like you but you looked super scared?  
**deckle edge:** also shes turning the lgbt books backward so the spine is hidden and u cant read it  >:(

 **angel cake:** shes the school superintendent and she came to discuss insurance bc of budget cuts !!  
**angel cake:** so i told her i wanted kids sometime,,, you know that  
**angel cake:** she was judgmental, so i told her i was dating someone ?  
**angel cake:** she was super critical and also i need health insurance ://  
**angel cake:** please help meee  
**angel cake:** she assumes im straight and i was hoping you could be my fake bf?

 **deckle edge:** yeah, sure!!  
**deckle edge:** from one bi to another, lets pretend to be straight for your boss B)  
**deckle edge:** will you owe me a favor?

 **angel cake:** yes i will  
**angel cake:** THANK YOU  
**angel cake:** bless you jake peralta

* * *

“Excuse me, Superintendent Wuntch. I’d like to introduce my boyfriend!” Amy’s holding hands with Jake (it feels less awkward than she thought) and, hopefully, convincing Wuntch she is a decent straight™ person who deserves health insurance.

Only in America could this be a necessity.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Jake Peralta, assistant manager of this store.”

Jake extends his free hand, but Wuntch only stares at it and refuses to shake hands. He awkwardly withdraws and nods at her.

“Miss Santiago, I’m impressed,” the superintendent replies, almost circling them like a shark. “A workplace romance, brewing right here under my nose!”

“No, superintendent, it really isn’t like that,” Amy protests. “We’ve been dating for a few years, you see, and I began working here over the summer because … I missed seeing Jake so much.”

“Ah, Mr. Peralta, I assume you were instrumental in helping Miss Santiago become assistant manager?” Wuntch asks.

“Well, she did have experience from working at Foster High School,” Jake attempts, but his efforts fall flat.

“Santiago, you must know a man’s reference is far better than any credential,” Wuntch replies smoothly.

Jake and Amy turn toward each other, eyes widening, but they don’t dare say a word against Wuntch’s (admittedly terrible and discriminatory) beliefs. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” the superintendent snaps.

Amy’s cheeks redden at once. Is their cover blown?

“Look at the way you two turned toward each other! You lovebirds can’t stay apart!” Wuntch croons. “You know how it is with young lovers. Men and women can never be friends, you know. They always fall in love. Don’t mind me, I’ve already taken up enough of your precious time. You must know I _hate_ to offend or inconvenience anyone.”

“Yes, that was my first impression of you,” Jake replies, feigning earnesty with mastery.

“Well, I’ll be off. I’m not much for these obscene, liberal places. Do me a favor and take down those ridiculous multicolored flags,” Superintendent Wuntch says with a flourish of her hand, referring to the LGBT shelves and decorations. With a _click_ of her heels, she’s walking out the door again. “Miss Santiago, I look forward to giving the board a good review of your insurance needs, based on your current relationship status. Thank you very much, and I do hope to see you again”

Amy turns to peck Jake on the cheek, just to _prove_ the cover story to Superintendent Wuntch. It seems Jake had the same idea. They uncomfortably meet in the middle, sharing a short kiss. Of course the superintendent stands in the doorway, watching and sighing, so Amy has to place her hands on Jake’s shoulders and lean into him.

Maybe Amy doesn’t _have_ to cling onto Jake’s chest as they kiss, but a little part of her wants to get closer to him.

From their position, they can’t tell if Wuntch is still there, so Amy plays it safe (is this _really_ safe?) and stays in Jake’s arms. After thirty seconds 一 which feel like a year as she’s kissing Jake in the doorway of _Shelf Life_ 一 the bell on the door rings and they finally separate.

Jake and Amy collectively exhale once Wuntch has left. They then turn toward the poor LGBT shelves, overturned books littering the once immaculate display.

“I can’t believe her,” Jake exclaims, placing _Everything Leads to You_ on its stand. “She was a walking, talking nightmare.”

“I know!” Amy nods and picks _Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe_ up. “There wasn’t a single moment she didn’t make me feel out of place or unhelpful.”

“She refused to shake my hand! Who does that?”

“At least she didn’t tell you to keep your ‘biological clock’ in check so you could have children,” Amy grumbles. Remarkably, she completely avoids all talk of the (impromptu yet nice) kiss with Jake.

“That thing about having a man’s recommendation was disgusting!” Jake protests. “Like people will look at a rec letter versus a legal certification, and they’ll go _‘hmm, the government says you can do this, but what’s that to the opinion of someone named Jake?’”_

“She’s impossible.”

“Incorrigible,” Jake adds, plucking gay history books from the ground. Amy stares until he explains he read a thesaurus to improve his insults.

“Nice job educating yourself, Jake,” Amy comments, turning toward Jake with an armful of books. “You know who _hasn’t_ done a good job of educating herself? Madeline Wuntch.”

“Exactly!” Jake says, throwing his hands in the air. “That little comment about the pride flags? Uncalled for. Not only does she march in here and assume you’re going to marry a man, but she has the nerve to ruin our bookshelf and tell us to remove our decorations.”

“She wasn’t even a decent human being,” Amy scoffs. “The moment she walked in here, the store came to a standstill. She watched us like a hawk!”

“And her snide little comments and the scowl on her face…”

“I feel like she was checking up on me,” Amy mutters, crossing her arms. The display is now restored, although the store’s pride isn’t quite the same. “It felt like an excuse, you know? Oh, the school _happens_ to have budget cuts and it has to change insurance for teachers. Does that mean they have to survey every teacher to see their plans for the future? No.”

“Did they swoop in here and practically interrogate you? Yes,” Jake declares, exhausted by the superintendent’s antics.

“It was invasive!” Amy cries out. “I felt like I was on trial.”

“I’m sorry she came in here, Ames.”

“It’s not _your_ fault, Jake.”

“Then, on behalf of men everywhere, I’m sorry we fixate way too much on reproductive rights.”

“Apology accepted,” Amy answers, smiling as Jake beckons her into a hug.

They stand in a distant corner of the store, Jake resting his chin on Amy’s shoulder and thinking about how they should do this more often 一 hugging, not infringing upon women’s rights.

Madeline Wuntch is long gone, her chin held high in the air as she drives back to Foster High to report her findings. For some reason, Miss Amy Santiago is the only female teacher at FHS to have a job outside of the district. Strangely enough, her relationship with Jake Peralta seemed just as natural (or more so, really) than that of the marriages of most teachers.

Funny.

Maybe _other_ teachers at Foster should try having a workplace romance, she thinks, before honking at a green light and slamming her foot on the gas pedal.

* * *

“Morning, babe!” Jake greets. 

It’s 9 A.M. on a Tuesday morning, and nobody at the _Shelf Life_ staff meeting knows what he’s talking about.

“Shut it, Peralta,” Amy glares and tries her hardest to be upset, but she doesn’t think she could ever tire of pretending to be Jake’s girlfriend. Inwardly, she’s glowing from being called ‘babe’, but she doesn’t dare let it show.

“Aw, are you two finally together?” Terry tenderly asks. “You know Terry _loves_ love.”

“We’re not together,” Amy explains. “This superintendent from my school came to ask me about my relationship status? Something about budget cuts and insurance and having children in the future. It was pretty vague.”

“So _I_ graciously stepped in and pretended to be Santiago’s boyfriend of a few years. I think the superintendent bought it, but she seemed super uncomfortable,” Jake says.

“Uncomfortable?” Terry repeats. “Is she the one who messed with the LGBT display?”

“That’s her.” Amy confirms. “We’re lucky she only tipped some books over, really. During the superintendent’s brief ten-minute visit, she managed several misdemeanors in terms of human rights.”

“She told us to take down the pride flags, she said a man’s rec letter was more important than a legal certification to teach, she assumed Amy was straight, she assumed _I_ was straight 一 what else, Ames?” Jake counts with his fingers and looks up at the end of his sentence.

“I’ve heard enough,” Terry responds. “Just try to ignore this hateful lady and focus on your jobs. You know, those legal things we pay you for?”

“Got it,” Jake answers, making finger guns. Amy plants her forehead in her palm. “I can’t believe you’re my fake boyfriend.”

“Now, onto _actual_ store business … we have to unload and stock shipments of all the new young adult novels. We got Stiefvater, Maas, Lu, Meyer, and a lot more I can’t remember of the top of my head,” Terry explains. “If there’s one thing to do today, unload and stock. Back and forth, back and forth. Please don’t fixate on this weird homophobe lady.”

“Thank goodness we’re too liberal for the likes of your superintendent,” Jake mutters. “While it lasted, though, it was fun being your accomplice.”

“You too.” Amy doesn’t quite know what to say, as she shyly tucks her hair behind one ear. As much as she detests Madeline Wuntch, she misses pretending with Jake.

* * *

“Oh, fuck,” Amy curses, folding a letter into its envelope and glaring at it. She’s sitting in her very own apartment, Peralta at her side as they eat croissants in the kitchen, unsure how the future will unravel.

“Language, Santiago,” Jake admonishes.

 _“Not_ in the mood.” Amy brushes her hair back into a ponytail, then hands the envelope to Jake.

He skims over it. “Dear Miss Santiago … we regret to inform you … we are altering incomes … to redirect funds for a district football stadium?!”

“Yep,” Amy mutters. “The school cares more about this stadium than it does its _fucking_ staff.”

Jake doesn’t correct her for cursing this time.

Amy rolls her eyes and reaches for the legal pad in her purse. “I just don’t know what I can do. They’re paying me less money for the same amount of time and work, and I’ve already cut back as much as I can on my expendables.”

“How about rent?” Jake offers. “I know Charles moved into his ex’s basement because he couldn’t afford his old place.”

“I don’t want to do _that,”_ Amy frowns. “The only ex I can think of is Teddy.”

“Teddy who couldn’t make you come?”

“The very same,” Amy confirms with a shudder.

“Well, you don’t have to go extreme,” Jake estimates. “You could move out of your apartment and into someplace with lower rent, couldn’t you?”

“My rent’s already pretty low,” Amy says .“I guess I could get a roommate?”

“If you’d like, we could be roommates.” Jake sticks his hands in his pockets, shyly glancing at Amy.

“I can’t do that to you! Your pay’s not in danger.”

“Yeah, but I could always save a couple hundred a month on rent if we lived together,” Jake shrugs. “Plus, it’d be nice to have someone around the house.”

“Yeah?” Amy asks hopefully.

“I need _someone_ to keep me from sinking into crushing debt.”

“Right, right. Your debt.” Amy fakes a smile and turns away, only daring to let her facade drop when Jake can no longer see her face.

 _Thank goodness for Jake’s financial situation,_ she thinks, pushing away any chance that she’s anything but Jake’s friend and coworker.

Crazy, right?

* * *

“Hey, Jake,” Terry motions, beckoning him toward the shelves. “Do you know who that is in Holt’s office?”

Jake zips his jacket up and flips the hood atop his head, James Bond-style. He crouches behind a shelf, Terry to his side, and curses quietly.“Oh, _great.”_

“Who is it?” Terry asks, trying to whisper.

“The embodiment of evil,” Jake hisses. “That’s Madeline Wuntch, the homophobic superintendent at Foster High, where Amy works. Amy and I are pretending to date so Wuntch doesn’t take away Amy’s healthcare, and so Amy can impress her.”

“What’s she doing here?” Terry eyes widen in wonder. “From the looks of it, Holt doesn’t seem to enjoy her presence very much.”

Jake grimaces. “Yeah, I doubt he does. The last time I saw Wuntch, she told me to take down the pride flag display.”

“Great. Just great. Terry hates discrimination.”

“Don’t we all,” Amy murmurs, walking by and stopping to join the conversation. “Maybe she’s one of those ‘why do people need labels? we’re all human!’ or ‘I don’t _see_ color’ people.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Jake scowls.

Terry hurriedly shushes his assistant managers, pointing to the window in Holt’s office. Madeline Wuntch rigidly walks out, her head raised as if she’s scoping the area for signs of human life. Holt shuts the door as soon as she’s gone, stiffly escorting Wuntch to the exit.

“Thank goodness she’s gone,” Holt huffs, crossing his arms.

Jake quizzically raises an eyebrow, asking if he actually knows Wuntch.

Holt sneers. “I wish I could say I didn’t, but, sadly, we used to work together. Before Kevin and I opened this store, I taught literature at Prosper High, which is in the same district as Madeline’s _precious_ Foster High School.”

“Did you two get along?” Terry wonders.

“What do you _think?_ We were like oil and water,” Holt remarks. “Now, she’s hunted me down once again.”

“I wish there was something I could do, sir, but she probably hates me just as much as you,” Amy explains. “I work at Foster, remember? She’s the one partially responsible for all these budget cuts.”

“Oh, is it that bad? I knew about the change in your pay, of course. Are you in financial straits, Santiago?” Holt asks. “You could’ve come to me about your salary.”

“No!” Amy protests. “I’m doing fine. Somewhat. I’m fine-ish. It’s all under control.”

“It doesn’t _sound_ under control.”

“I offered to move in with Amy. We can both save money on rent that way,” Jake states.

“Trust me, sir, my budget’s fine,” Amy profusely says. “I, uh, wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble. You, um, already have enough to worry about with Madeline Wuntch around here.”

“You got that right,” Holt mutters. “She told me she’d come more often, to quote-unquote _see how long this business lasts.”_

“She … what?” Jake’s eyes widen. “Can she do that?”

Terry confirms, “Absolutely. Stores can’t keep people from stopping by.”

“Oh, terrific.” Amy holds back a curse, grimacing. “I told her I was dating Jake.”

“You did _what?”_ Holt demands. “You know co-workers in relationships are often frowned upon, don’t you?”

“We’re really sorry, sir!” Jake apologizes. “But she was circling Amy like a hawk, asking her about health insurance and maternity leave 一 something about how she just _had_ to be in a relationship to get benefits when she had kids down the line?”

“That’s ridiculous!” Holt interrupts.

“I know,” Amy argues, “but I can’t do anything! She’s the superintendent, and I’m only a teacher. Jake was nearby, and I needed a cover because Wuntch was being so critical, so I just said he was my boyfriend.”

“It’s no big deal,” Jake shrugs. “Anything for a friend, right? And, you know, you’re my coworker and soon-to-be roommate.”

“She probably won’t come around that often,” Amy rationalizes. “Jake and I will just have to keep our cover when she’s around-”

Terry points out, “Of course, you two don’t _know_ when she’ll be around. You might as well pretend to date all the time. She works at your school, Amy, and we can’t stop her from visiting all the time.”

Holt shrugs. “Seems like the best solution to this problem. Nice going, Terry.”

“So it’s settled? I’m just Amy’s fake boyfriend all the time?” Jake asks. “I mean, not that it’s a problem. I just want to be clear.”

“Sounds good to me,” Amy agrees. “Sorry if this is a lot of pressure. It’s just that there’s a lot riding on this.”

“Alright, then. I believe we’re finished discussing Santiago’s and Peralta’s lives,” Holt concludes. “Good luck avoiding that she-devil Wuntch.”

“Thanks.” Amy blushes and walks away, taking Jake’s hand in hers. She knows she’s getting her hopes up with this fake relationship, but it feels so good to lie.

It feels a little _too_ good to be true.

Deep inside, Amy knows she isn’t having trouble lying because this fabricated, spur-of-the-moment relationship is something she truly wants. She’s having too much fun living this lie out, though, to do anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm still committed. school's escalating?? wish me luck.

**Author's Note:**

> bless you for reading!!! 1 comment is like gold to me. just say anything. talk about how it made you feel.
> 
> if you're anxious/scared/etc. and this may have to do with mental health, I understand. just comment if you can.


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